Sharon M. Draper’s excellent book should be part of college courses on race, though it’s written for young adults.

Sharon M. Draper’s “Stella by Starlight” (the title is also a Miles Davis song) is dedicated to her grandmother, Estelle Twitty Mills Davis, and her father, Vick D. Mills, who each grew up in a deeply segregated South.

“Stella by Starlight” is set in 1932, in North Carolina, in a small black town whose residents keep a warily respectful distance from the white people who live in nearby Spindale. One of the most telling paragraphs in the whole book is on Page 5:

“Every Negro family in Bumblebee knew the unwritten rules — they had to take care of their own problems, and take care of one another. Help from the white community was neither expected nor considered. It was as it had always been.”

Of course race plays a huge role in a book written from the perspective of a young black girl growing up in a state controlled by the Ku Klux Klan, the malignant organization that also had a stranglehold on Colorado at about the same time. But what struck me about that paragraph was that it remains terribly true today. We have a mixed-race President, but we also have citizens who think it’s OK to bomb an NAACP building, and an education and justice system that effectively treat African-Americans as second-class citizens.

So Stella’s story, 80 years on, is important. The book begins with Stella roused by her brother, who’s spotted some KKK members burning a cross. And while, in this part of North Carolina, black and white citizens carefully avoid interacting, they still know one another — and Stella recognizes the KKK leader’s horse as the one owned by the local white physician.

The shadow of the KKK hangs like a thunderhead over “Stella by Starlight,” adding a frisson of unnerving tension even when Stella’s community celebrates over an impromptu potluck feast, or debates whether the men of Bumblebee should register to vote. That’s “register to vote,” a process that requires paying a poll tax that whites don’t have to pay, and correctly answering test questions that whites aren’t required to know.

Draper handles these scenes with grace and no shading, allowing the damning facts to speak for themselves; she’s not a proselytizer. (If the chapter on voter registration doesn’t make it clear that the Good Old Days were good only for some people, then nothing will.)

A lot of dreamers were there that day, and they represented even more who couldn’t come to the march. In “Voices from the March On Washington,” poets J. Patrick Lewis and George Ella Lyon blend the words of real people with imagined characters — among them a sharecropper, a waitress, high school and college students, a hairdresser and an unemployed Texas store clerk.

This motley crew arrives by foot, by bus, by bicycle and even roller skates for an historic event of proportions that dumbfounded participants. Here’s the (imagined) store clerk:

“At the Lincoln Monument,
a sparrow twinkles
in the corner of his eye,
just like my granddaddy’s
eye would twinkle seeing me
on tiptoes next to Grandma,
clotheslining the laundry.
Now here comes foolish me,
tearing up when I first see
honest Abe, deep in thought,
in his Georgia marble suit.

“Two words for this unstoppable
crowd that could fill five football
stadiums: unshakable and peaceful.
All right, I’ll add contagious!
In lockstep to the chant, “Jobs,
Freedom, Equality,” I focus
to fight on, my legs pounding
like pistons over somebody’s
white idea of paradise.”

“Voices from the March on Washington: Poems by J. Patrick Lewis and George Ella Lyon (WordSong, $15.95) Ages 10 and up.

A very princess-y little girl is excited about going camping and hiking for the first time.

Unlike most girly-girls, Sadie is totally cool with going camping, as long as she packs her own sparkly suitcase with lacy socks, ruffled underpants, tiara and tutu.

It’s okay, because her family is car-camping, not backpacking. Mom doesn’t tell Sadie that she won’t need her fancy pink purse at the campground. Dad doesn’t object to her less-than-sensible footwear. (This is a work of fiction!)

The folks at Patagonia and REI might raise their eyebrows at what Sadie regards as appropriate outdoor clothing:

“I’m swimming in the river in my flowered underwear!
“Bigfoot might be after me, but right now I don’t care.
“If he forgot his bathing suit, I’ll offer him a pair.
“I’m swimming in the river in my flowered underwear.
Could I capture Bigfoot with my seven strings of pearls?
“Lasso him and tie him up with just a few quick twirls?
My brother thinks that boys are brave. I’ve told him, ‘So are girls!’
“Could I capture Bigfoot with my seven strings of pearls?”

Before Rin-Tin-Tin and Lassie, Strongheart was the dog who dominated the movies.

The world’s first movie star dog was named Etzel von Oeringen, known to his fans as Strongheart. A pedigreed police dog, he was trained to guard his territory and rigorously obey commands, a combination of skills that changed his life.

Movie director and animal trainer Larry Trimble encountered the dog at a New York state kennel. When Trimble barged onto the kennel property, the dog leapt through a window but froze at attention when Trimble yelled “Halt and keep still!”

Trimble and his wife, Jane, took the dog home and noticed how responsive he was:

“Larry and Etzel became so close that when Larry felt like relaxing, he would find Etzel lying at his feet. When he felt like taking a walk, Etzel was already waiting at the door with his leash.
” ‘He can read my mind,’ Larry said.
“He and Jane noticed that when they felt sad, Etzel looked downcast. When they felt happy, Etzel seemed happy too.”

The Trimbles figured that their dog had potential as an actor. They renamed him Strongheart — World War I had recently ended, and they knew an American name would go over with the public better than a German name — and began making movies with him. His first was “The Silent Call,” an immediate hit thanks to the dog’s empathy. His star is near Lassie’s and Rin Tin Tin’s on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

Sharon Lovejoy’s latest book follows two abused girls as they escape slavery and a punitive family.

“Running Out of Night,”Sharon Lovejoy‘s latest novel, follows the perilous journey of an adolescent slave girl, Zenobia, and the nameless white poor girl whose father and brothers treat as a servant.

Both girls know their unlikely alliance is as dangerous as their effort to escape their respective tyrants. Upon hearing the white girl whistle like a bird, Zenobia names her Lark. Lovejoy writes from the white girl’s perspective, using the Southern vernacular of the pre-Civil War South:

“What your name?” the girl asked me.
“I don’t have no name. My mama died just when I was borned and nobody bothered to give me one, ceptin Grandpa, who always called me Sweet Girl when we were alone. But you can call me Girl like everyone else does.”
“Girl ain’t no name for you. I never knowed someone with no name. Even the Nkanga hens on the plantation has themselves names,” she said to me as she stood up and walked back acrost the limb and onto the bank.
“I give you one, but I needs to find a name that fits you good.”

Hiding by day, a half-step ahead of the slave catchers and Lark’s ruthless father and brothers, the girls hurry north by night. They meet up with another runaway, and find shelter at a Quaker woman’s home. But then the slave catchers discover one of their hidey-holes, and the real cat-and-mouse game begins.

But nope. The title is the question that the boy keeps posing to the bear he’s known since the bear was a cub and the boy was a tot. The bear is “too big and bearish” to continue living in the boy’s house, where he does bear-appropriate things like raiding the pantry and menacing visitors. (Not unlike having a Great Pyrenees dog, in my experience.)

So bear and boy visit different potential residences, including a toy store, a zoo, a circus, a cave, etc., all rejected by the increasingly frustrated bear. Then when they’re sharing a cold snack, inspiration strikes.

“Where Bear?” is a whimsical story, but it has a message for children whose friends or relatives are moving to a new home. Even though the bear relocates, the boy and the bear stay in touch on old-school twisty-cord telephones.

Angela Diterlizzi and Brendan Wenzel teamed up on this cheery picture book about bugs.

Anthropomorphized insects and other crawlies fill the pages of “Some Bugs,” Angela Diterlizzi‘s charming picture book about the little creatures that fascinate young children.

The pages of “Some Bugs” are rich with detail — a cat giving the hairy eyeball to a ladybug venturing from a downspout to lead the reader on a tour of a back yard. Then there’s a monarch butterfly ignoring a caterpillar version of itself, a mole startled by cicadas and crickets, and a wheelbug sneaking up on a horsefly that would be at home on the set of “The Simpsons.”

The text is simple, saving the names of the bugs for the final pages. Each referenced bug corresponds to the illustrations, so readers can flip back and forth to learn who’s who. And technically, not everything in “Some Bugs” is a bug. That a marbled orb weaver is an arachnid, not an insect, but I quibble.

It might not have pictures, but this is going to be one of the kids’ favorite books.

Initially, children who like picture books might look askance at the very idea of “The Book With No Pictures”. Author B.J. Novak (the malcontent from “The Office” and a brilliant comedian) knows that.

“It might seem like no fun to have someone read you a book with no pictures,” it begins.
“It probably seems boring and serious. Except…
“Here is how books work: Everything the words say, the person reading the book has to say.
“No matter what.
“That’s the deal. That’s the rule. So that means…Even if the words say…
“BLORK.”

“The Book With No Pictures” will zip to the top of young readers’ Best Of lists, and parents will get a chuckle out of it…the first 10 or 20 times they’re implored to read it aloud. Parents: Go on, read it aloud even when you don’t want to because you’re tired, or you need to get dinner ready, or it’s bath time. Being silly will make you feel a little better, too.

Does your child struggle with math? Still has panic attacks, as an adult, balancing her checkbook? This is a lousy Christmas gift for her.

In more than 20 years of reviewing books for children and young adults, there’ve been some well-meaning doozies, but none as stultifying as “Let’s Chat About Economics!” (I guess the exclamation point makes it more exciting.)

It’s by Famed Economist — that’s how he is billed — Dr. Arthur Laffer and (probably really by) Michelle A. Balconi. Laffer was a member of Pres. Ronald Reagan’s economic policy advisory board, whose disastrous decisions led to the rat’s nest that foundered Pres. George H.W. Bush’s efforts to win a second presidential term. (Remember “It’s the economy, stupid” in 1992?)

This is the sort of thing that a well-meaning parent or relative gives to a child who struggles with math and economic concepts. It’s the kind of gift my father gave me — I was one of those struggling children — for Christmas when I was 8 years old: “Multiplication and Division with Jiminy Cricket.” My dad actually tried to fob off this crummy present on Santa. (“He knows when you’re sleeping, and he knows when you have trouble with math problems.”)

Apart from being a regrettable subject for young readers, the writing (whether it’s the fault of Famous Economist Laffer or freelance writer Balconi) is dull and leaden. Have a look at this excerpt for an example of the way that the authors think families talk:

“What? $80??” gasped Dad. “For a toy?”
“Dad, it’s not a toy. It’s the special-edition ePie music player that comes preloaded with the Cricket Boys’ album and even has their picture on the case!” shrieked Allie. “Buying it is the only way you can hear the group’s new music until it is released a month later!”
“Now I’ve heard everything! Why don’t you just wait and listen to the radio instead?!” exclaimed Dad. “And if you think we are paying for any part of this, you are mistaken.”

Lol.

So “Let’s Chat About Economics!” — the word “chat” perhaps was meant to trick readers into thinking the text is fun — is, unhappily, destined for younger soulmates who are similarly math-averse. I feel sorry for them.

Especially if their parents pretend that St. Nick was responsible for this particular gift.

Young Simon doesn’t let a little cold stop him from going to school even though his classroom gets progressively emptier.

In “Sick Simon,” the very young hero wakes up on Monday morning, ready to make the most of his week at school, despite the icky green boogers decorating his sizable schnoz. After kissing his family good-morning (and passing on his cold), he throws up on the school bus, sneezes enthusiastically in class, and infects the class pet along with his classmates.

By Thursday, his classroom is oddly empty at nap time, and somehow there is a substitute teacher in his regular teacher’s place. On Friday, Simon is the only one who shows up, nose still dripping, to a much-anticipated kickball match. Alone on the way back, Simon is greeted by three new pals: Virus, Protozoa and Bacteria. They tell him how much they appreciate his extreme courtesy — never washing his hands, or covering his coughs, or containing his sneezes. And then Sick Simon has an epiphany.

Author and illustrator Dan Krall has fun suggesting the contagious aura that surrounds a sick person, and he’s even better at depicting germs and bacteria. Protozoa looks like he’d be at home on an episode of “SpongeBob SquarePants,” and effete Bacteria is wonderfully supercilious.